


HOCKEY COP: PUCKING HERO

by webhead3019



Series: A PERIOD FOR HEROES [1]
Category: Family Guy (Cartoon)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-11
Updated: 2019-10-11
Packaged: 2020-10-14 10:23:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 5,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20599196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/webhead3019/pseuds/webhead3019
Summary: Hockey Cop isn’t a real cop, but a psychopath who kills criminals because no one else will. His instruments for murder are hockey-related weapons and puns. Hockey Cop is the morally bankrupt murder capital Ice City’s only vigilante as well as its last line of defense. The character of Hockey Cop originates from a Family Guy cutaway.





	1. NOT A REAL COP

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER WARNING: Rated G for Strong Language Substitutes and Not a Whole Lot Else

A gang of thugs corner a lady into an alleyway. One of the thugs laughed “Haha, time to get raped!” The woman pleaded, “Oh, no! Why are you doing this?” The thug asked, “Um because we’re rapists? It’s kind of our shtick!” The woman complied, “Okay here’s my purse, just don’t hurt me!” The thug rolled his eyes and snapped, “Ugh, grab her!” A silhouette appears at the end of the alleyway. A lightning strike shows that it’s the vigilante Hockey Cop.

The thug asked, “Why is that retard all dressed up in hockey gear?” Hockey Cop announced, “Hey, criminal!” The thug asked, “Huh?” Hockey Cop answered, “Puck you!” Hockey Cop hit a puck with a hockey stick. The puck flew straight for the unsuspecting criminal. The criminal screamed and the puck shattered teeth, knocking them down his throat. The criminal gagged on his own teeth and died.

Hockey Cop turned to the next criminal and said, “Get the puck out of my neighborhood!” Just as he was flicking his switchblade, Hockey Cop whacked the criminal in the groin with his hockey stick. Hockey Cop struck him so hard in the you-know-what, his testicles dropped out of his mouth. Next up, Hockey Cop whacked another thug in the stomach who tried jumping him.

The thug dropped to the ground in pain. Hockey Cop hopped into the driver seat of his Zamboni and starts up the ignition. Hockey Cop exclaimed, “You’re about to get ran over by a pucking Zamboni!” The thug screams. Hockey Cop crushed and splattered the criminal’s head under the Zamboni wheel. Hockey Cop jumped off his Zamboni to take on the next evildoer.

Hockey Cop pointed at a thug and accused, “You’re pucked in the head!” Hockey Cop hit another puck with his hockey stick. The puck punched a hole through the criminal’s forehead and out his back. One of the thugs tried turning heel. Hockey Cop said, “Go puck yourself.” Hockey Cop shoved the hockey stick up his ass and the club end punched out the roof of his head with a poof of blood.

Hockey Cop turned to the sixth and last thug and said, “You pucked with the wrong motherpucker.” Hockey Cop hits a puck which the criminal catches. At first relieved, the criminal looks down in horror as the puck he caught is a ticking time bomb. Hockey Cop pulls out the killswitch. The thug begged him, “No please! I swear I’ll be a good criminal from now on!” Hockey Cop lectured, “If you can’t do the time, don’t do the crime.”

Hockey Cop flipped him the bird with his other hand and said, “Adios, motherpucker.” Hockey Cop detonates the puck and the criminal explodes. A shower of blood and body parts rain down around Hockey Cop and the woman in the alleyway. The woman said, “You saved me! How can I ever repay you, Hockey Cop?” She tried hugging Hockey Cop and he almost hit her with his hockey stick.

Hockey Cop jumped back and warned, “Don’t pucking touch me, lady! I’m still a virgin!” Cop sirens blared in the distance, but they were coming this way. Hockey Cop noted, “Uh-oh. Real cops! They must have heard the explosion. Time to get the H-E-double-hockey-sticking-puck out of here!” Hockey Cop hopped into his Zamboni and fled the scene.


	2. PUCKING GRANDMA’S BOY

I live with my grandma. I don’t know where I’d be without my grandma, but I know where my grandma would be if without me. My grandma would be buried six feet under if not for me. I change her clothes at least once a week and I give her skeleton sponge baths every other week. She wouldn’t even leave the pucking rocking chair on the front porch if it wasn’t for me. You heard right: I’m a family guy by day and a hockey cop by night. 

The doctor told me my grandma she only had 2 weeks left in her at most. He was clearly a pucking idiot who shouldn’t have received a PhD, because that was 5 pucking years ago. My grandma is all bones now and she’s still pucking kicking. She’s literally all bones. Ironically, that’s when I began my fight on crime. If you think all this came to be because my grandma had an illness, then you’re pucking wrong.

I mean, I’m pretty pucking sure she’d tell me if it did. My grandma typically only talks to me before I go to work at night. She’s sort of like the polar opposite of how Pamela Voorhees. Instead of supporting my pursuit of justice, she tells me I should pucking kill myself instead. I know she doesn’t mean it though. That was just crazy old granny talking. Haha! Grandma didn’t always talk that way. In fact, she used to be really supportive of me.

I was a part-time police officer, because I loved kicking it to the rear ends of douchebags on and off the hockey arena. I almost had the scholarship deal of a pucking lifetime too. All that came to pass as soon as they did a psyche eval on me. All it took was one little puck up and my time as a police officer and a potential professional athlete was pucking over. The psyche eval was pucking rigged.

Of course, even before then, I knew not all douchebags played in the offense. Even douchebags who wore suits are still douchebags at the end of the day. Everyone pucking hates the grandma’s boy. That was the day I decided to create my own profession. Since the system failed me, I created one outside the rigged jurisdiction of douchebags in suits. You guessed it! Why be a hockey player or a cop when you could be a hockey cop?

Ever since then, I’ve been pucking killing criminals left and right, in suits and out. Fat, skinny, tall, small, woman, child, disabled... It doesn’t pucking matter to me what you are, unless one thing: “If you’re a criminal, I’ll pucking kill you!” If you think my life is driven by personal tragedy, then you just don’t pucking get it. I don’t give a puck! I’m a hockey cop for profession and for fun! I just pucking love killing, pure and simple.

It doesn’t get more pucking clear than that. I’m glad I don’t have to choose between being a hockey player or a cop, because I’m so much more than that now. Becoming the Hockey Cop was the greatest pucking decision of my life. Deep down in her hollowed out eye holes that are her eyes, I know grandma probably thinks so too. Ice City may be the murder capital in the world, but I swear grandma, I’ll ice the most motherpuckers!


	3. ONE PUCKED UP KID

Even though I didn’t become Hockey Cop until much later in my life, I always had a vague idea of what I would later become in life. Drawing was my escapism before killing was. In them, I reimagined myself in something similar to the costume I wear now. My dark fantasy was the precursor for Hockey Cop but back then, I could never find a name that stuck with me. I didn’t know I’d actually become the character in my sketchbook when I first designed him.

I was unsure about a lot of things except killing myself and maybe shooting up the school. In a way, I did end up living the school shooter dream, but I’m so much bigger than that now. The day I received positive reinforcement on my drawings was an eventful one to say the least. It was the first in a trail of breadcrumbs that would guide me into the skates of Hockey Cop. It started with a drawing, really not much more different than the rest.

I was hard at work on one of my drawings when a kid in my earth science class named Sylvester peaked over my shoulder. I didn’t like it when people glanced over my shoulders, let alone see my art. I couldn’t stop him soon enough and Sylvester gasped, “Woah! Is that Jason Voorhees taking off a naked girl’s head? That’s amazing! You’re so talented, dude!” He always sat behind me, but he never said anything before today. Barely anyone talked to me really.

I turned red in the face to him and bowed, “Thanks, Sylvester! No one’s ever looked at my drawings and lived. Then again, I’ve never been complimented before. That’s not really Jason in the picture though. It’s actually me cutting off naked girl heads with a razor-tipped hockey stick. I can show you some panels where I store them in freezer units until I can press their shrunken heads down into hockey pucks... After I’ve juiced them of course!”

Sylvester was instantly turned off by me and backed away, “Um... yeah. That sounds great and all, but I just remembered I have to finger my chemistry teacher at 3 o’clock! My finals are depending on it!” I exclaimed, “Dammit! I can’t be late again!” I shuffled all my papers hastily into my backpack and broke into a full sprint out the door. My bully hollered over to me, “Hey, nerd!” I looked up and said, “Oh hey, Jerry. What’s up, pal?”

Maybe that sounded too obvious. I was hoping being nice would stop him, but it never did. Jerry screamed, “Fuck you!” Jerry punched my in the nuts and before I could even grab my junk to stop the pee from coming out, he depantsed me. I wet myself in response and gasped, “Jesus pucking Christ! I can’t believe he said puck with a P H U!” It happened before, as Jerry pulled that prank on me ever pucking day since Kindergarten.

Well, he chose to do it conveniently on every day I was late. He pointed at me and burst out laughing, “You’re such a loser! Serves you right, creep!” I fell for the same gimmick every pucking time, thinking he might change, but bullies like him don’t change. Jerry never changed and my bladder was forever damaged by his cruel habit. I was going to be late. Even though I was just less than a yard away from the doorway, I quickly scrambled to my feet after him.


	4. NO PUCKS GIVEN

Now to think about it, I don’t even know why being late for this class worried me so much. None of the teachers liked me, but this one couldn’t care enough to try. I entered class closely behind Jerry and exclaimed, “WTP!” My introductory algebra teacher heard me loud and clear, but she hardly looked up from the latest digital Playgirl article on her subscriptions bar. She asked, “White Trash Party?” I corrected, “No! WTP: What The Puck?”

My algebra teacher came down on me, “Gary Putin Ratowski! Watch your fucking mouth!” Yeah, you heard right. My real name is Gary Ratowski AKA... Hockey Cop! Square and emotional punching bag by day, crimestopping ass-kicker and raving pucking lunatic by night. My name was Gary, while my archrival was Jerry, on whom I tattled, “I heard Jerry say it.” Jerry snapped, “What? No, I didn’t!”

Jerry explained, “Why the fuck would I even say puck when fuck sounds so much more fucking satisfying?” I gasped at the rare triple curse. Jerry further bombarded me, “What’s the matter? You’re not gonna stop breathing on me, are you asshole? I’ll dance over you when you drop dead, but just shut up for shit’s sake. Shut the hell up, Ratowski, you lying cracker faggot worthless sack of pants-wetting goddamn shit!”

Our algebra teacher cried out, “Jerry , what a remarkable use of algebraic expression! Two negatives always equal a positive! Someone here has been putting in their time for the Dean’s List.” Jerry blushed, but I wasn’t about to let him win this time. The only times she actually butted in was to side against me. Bewildered, I pointed out, “Only 2 negatives equal a positive, what? I think your math is off, lady! Jerry listed a bunch of negatives, not two.”

Still paying more attention to her male erotica than her own students, the kind and considerate teacher rolled her eyes and said, “Whatever. Not listening. I’ve nothing to do with the hijinks of riot makers such as yourself.” I fired back, “Hijinks or not, you never listen.” She rolled her eyes and ignored me. It astounds me how she even got this job. My algebra teacher was exactly like the kids who just stood by and did nothing as I got bullied.

She flicked across the screen to an image of a gimp in a vice. She wondered, “Where in the holy—“ Upon locating the cock in question, the woman spat out the last swig of coffee she had taken all over her computer screen. Her computer was touch-sensitive, so now she had to take a break from it. Apparently, she did hear the last words that came out of my mouth as she explained, “Well, maybe I’ll listen on the day you put your Hijinks to a good cause like...”

I tried following her, “Like?” She blew an air horn and preset remote-activated confetti burst down from the rafters. Our algebra teacher announced over the class loudspeaker, “J-J-J-Jerry!” Everyone clapped and cheered, totally in awe of Jerry. That was the second time in such short notice their star had been brought into the spotlight. Jerry motioned to his collar in momentary disbelief. His disbelief didn’t last a long as mine before he threw his arms out in a celebratory T-pose. Puck you, Jerry.


	5. QUIT BEING PUCKING GARY

Jerry swooned, “Thank you all for your meaningless applause. You’re all middle class scum and as of now, you’re all lower than me. Do you even hear what I’m saying, you low tier bottomfeeding trash. Before long, I will amass an arm of clones made not from your inferior DNA but from my superior one. Waves of perfect Jerries will rise up and become the new world’s master race.” I called him out, “Puck you, Jerry. Maybe for one moment in your worthless pucking life, you should give some serious thought into the alternative.”

My algebra teacher decried, “Gary!” Jerry growled, “Oh, yeah. What’s that, grandma’s boy? Say it: I fuckin dare you!” I chuckled, “Here I thought you were smart enough to figure that out on your own. I still don’t know how the puck you got there but you are honor roll after all. I guess I was pucking mistaken.” Jerry reminded him, “I’m still waiting, dipshit.” I gave in, “Fine! Perhaps having less motherpuckers like you might actually make the world a better place.” Jerry shot back, “Oh, you blew it now, Ratowski!”

Before I could say anything else, our algebra teacher jumped in, “Ratowski! I’ve had it up to here with your condescending attitude and horrendous fucking language! Jerry clearly wants to change the world for the greater good and I’m absolutely appalled you’ve repeatedly tried to avert him from his dream.” Jerry snickered, “Ooh. You should have shut up when I gave you the chance. I bet you’re feeling like a real dolt now.” I said, “Shut the puck up, Jerry. You’re only the teacher’s pet because you have a small dick!”

Jerry gasped, “What? That’s not true at all! I don’t have anything that needs compensating for. Someone tell him he’s lying!” I explained, “Oh, but it is. The secret is out and everyone is talking about it. They call you Jerry Pop: Vagina Boy.” Jerry gulped, “Liar! Stop saying things that aren’t true. People don’t say that. You’re making it up to get under my skin and it’s not funny.” I disagreed, “Humor is subjective, cry about it.” I leaned in and asked personally, “Wanna know a secret?” Jerry sniffled, “What’s that?”

I told him, “If you hadn’t bought your way to the top, I would have ripped your nonexistent dick out of the equation a long time ago. How’s that for algebraic expression?” More serious than ever, the teacher addressed me once again, “No longer can I tolerate such audacity from you Gary Ratowski. I want to see you bow your head in shame as you get what’s coming to you. Go to the principal at once!” I said, “No, thanks.” The classes oohed and she asked, “Excuse me?” Without delay, I recalled, “Jerry called me a grandma’s boy earlier.”

Not knowing where this was going, the teacher asked, “And?” I answered, “He was right about that. Grandmas can’t make their kids go to school.” The teacher laughed evilly, “Oh, yeah? You got it all mapped out from here. Don’t you, Ratowski?” I said, “I’m taking your suggestion even though you never meant a goddamn word of it, you stubborn old cow.” My teacher heard what she wanted to hear and growled, “What?” I chimed, “Here’s the ball kicker. Are you ready? I’m gonna put my skills to good use in society.”

I paused a moment before declaring, “I’m gonna be a mass murderer who’s finally had it with society, playing a superhero who needs to justify his actions through pretentious pucking moral code, playing a Hockey Cop to get all he pucking bills paid, baby!” My algebra teacher denied me one last time, “Didn’t I tell you: Negatives after negatives don’t equal positives?” I flipped my teacher the bird with both hands and said, “Go puck yourself, you pucking bitch! Gary Ratowski, Hockey Cop is pucking out of here!”

As I exited, I punted Jerry hard in the genitals and said, “Oh, sorry. Did I just hit you in the vagina, Jerry? That wasn’t very PC of me.” I left and the teacher sprung forward the moment Jerry hit the ground bawling. The teacher asked, “Oh my god, Jerry! Are you alright?” Jerry clutched his crotch and cried, “My dick! My dick! Oh, sweet baby Jesus and virgin Mary! I can’t feel my fuckin dick!” Little did I know, that wasn’t the last I would see of Jerry... AKA Vagina Boy. If he wasn’t Vagina Boy before, he was now.


	6. FEELING PUCKY PUNK?

Sir Harms cornered the piece of shit kid who had ate all his Unlucky Charms. The vengeful Leprechaun said, “Looks like ya luck just ran out, bitch! Not so lucky now, are ya?” The kid pleaded with Sir Harms, “Please... Please, Sir Harms! Don’t kill me!“ The Leprechaun said, “Ya should have asked me not to kill ya before ya stole me Unlucky Charms!” The kid asked, “Why are you doing this?” Sir Harms said, “Cause ya stole me Charms bitch!” The kid said, “I already ate your Charms! Do you truly think killing me is going to bring them back?”

Sir Harms took out a makeshift chainsaw crafted from a giant spoon chained to gear system and a pucking motor. He revved up the chainsaw spoon in his hands and said, “As a matter of fact... I do.” Sir Harms said, “Lucky me means not so lucky you... Unlucky you to be more precise. Now come here and get what you fuckin deserve.” The kid said, “No, wait!” He was too late as the Leprechaun drilled through his torso, cutting a pathway with the motorized spoon from hip to hip. He pounded chunkily away at his insides.

Sir Harms laughed maniacally as he did so. It was like a jackhammer and Sir Harms cut the boy’s stomach open and ropes of intestines, blood, and pucking guts poured out. Sir Harms crouched over the corpse and drew his switchblade. Making use of the knife, he cut open the kid’s stomach sack that had fallen out and his Unlucky Charms spilled free. Sir Harms scooped the bloody, half digested cereal into his palms and ate it. Sir Harms moaned in sick pleasure, “Oh, yes. That’s me delicious Unlucky Charms.” A scroll of information appeared on the lower half of the screen.

The bottom text read, “This has been brought to you in part by Sir Harms AKA Unlucky the Leprechaun! No children were coerced, tortured, or murdered in the making of this ad.” Sir Harms said in the background, “Keep ya filthy grubby paws off me Unlucky Charms, ya cunt kids!” You could hear the sounds of his chainsaw spoon and children screaming in the background, who apparently made the mistake of robbing him. That was when Grandma got my attention from the top of the stairs. While it may sound cliche, I of course lived in her basement... and I pucking loved it!

Her person was obscured by the high wall of the staircase, but thanks to the blue light illuminating it from my TV, her shadow showed against the floor. Grandma hollered down, “Ratowski! Turn that shit down and tune in to the Channel 10 news! Tune in to Channel 10 and fucking kill yourself.” I hollered back, “For the last pucking time, grandma! I’m not Gary Putin Ratowski anymore. It’s Hockey Cop! I thought you pucking understood that now.” Her presence loomed over me like a light current turned violent gust of air.

Grandma’s shadow grew to 12 feet in length. Holy puck! That’s equal to how many inches there are in a pucking foot alone. Ugh. I guess in some ways, learning math did pay off. Grandma screeched, “NOW, RATOWSKI!” I said, “Fine, I will! Jesus H. Mary mother of puck!” I turned the Channel 10 news and my eyes instantly lit up. A familiar little son of a puck was holding up Ice City Hall. I shifted in my seat. Who would have pucking guessed it? Grandma asked curiously, “Anyone you know?” I said, “Hey, I pucking know that guy!”

I specified, “That’s Jerry Pop! Vagina Boy!” Grandma sighed, “Who? Oh, pooey. Who cares? Jerry Pop, eh?” Grandma hesitated before saying, “Looks like someone got his Jerry popped and didn’t like it.” I hastily quipped, “Yep! That bad!” Grandma added, “Well you certainly did puck him, didn’t you?” Realizing what she meant, I said, “Gross.” News reporter Diane Simmons spoke into the microphone, “I’m Diane Simmons, reporting to you live from Ice City Hall, where a startling terrorist attack on the police is taking place.”


	7. CROSS THE PUCKING LINE

Diane Simmons passed Jerry Pop her microphone and prompted him, “Hello mister miss... missus... whatever the hell you are. You seem like a nice terrorist. How was your day today?” Jerry Pop said, “Oh, you know. It’s like they say.” Diane pressed, “What do they say?” Jerry Pop said, “Oh, you know!” Diane pressed again, “No, seriously. What do they say?” Jerry Pop gave in proudly, “There ain’t nothing like a little bit of rape, beheading, and beheading rape to start your day... Oh, don’t forget the coffee! God, don’t even get me started on coffee.”

Diane asked, “Do you love coffee?” Jerry Pop said, “I fucking love coffee!” Diane agreed, “Me too! Well before we get carried away, the audience is dying to know more. Can you tell your viewers a little about yourself? Maybe something personal?” Jerry Pop said, “Are you pitching me a fucking reality show?“ Diane snorted, “Like Keeping Up with the Whoredashians?” Jerry Pop didn’t laugh and said, “No comment. As a proud American citizen, I humbly stand by the 2nd Amendment.” Diane snorted, “I’m just fucking with you. God, you’re such a pussy.”

Diane Simmons faced the camera and said his pucking piece for him, “My sources tell me Vagina Boy here likes to go by his alias Jerry Pop instead, because his balls and dick were crushed inward as a kid, which resulted in the complete restructure of his anatomy.” Like he wasn’t there two feet from her, Diane whispered into the mic loudly enough for the entire block to hear, “I hear every time Jerry here has to go pee pee in the toy toy, it’s out of a fucking tube.“ The man in charge of shooting the scene palmed his face, but otherwise stood in place.

Diane laughed uncontrollably, “I mean what kind of useless deadweight trash do you have to be on society to get that fucked up? Am I right or am I right?” Jerry Pop cleared his throat, startling Diane Simmons. Diane jumped when she saw Jerry Pop staring her down and said, “Holy shit! Vagina Boy, you scared the bejesus out of me! I forgot you were there.” Jerry Pop laughed nervously, “Um, heh heh. Yeah. Vagina Boy AKA Jerry Pop here.” Jerry Pop waved before adding through gritted teeth, “Fuck you very much.” Diane chuckled, “Okay, dickbag. What’s your statement?”

Jerry asked, “I’m sorry, what?” Diane said, “Well, now that we got the pleasantries out of the way, what’s it going to be, Vagina Boy? What do you have to say for yourself?” Jerry Pop took out a gun and seized Diane. Jerry said, “Well, bitch. I’d say, we have a hostage situation on our hands. You, camera guy? Yes, you! You’re fucking coming with us!” The camera guy pointed to himself questioningly again. Jerry said, “No duh! You’re the camera guy!” A wide smile stretched across the camera guy’s face. Jerry cringed, “Oh, dear. What have I done?”

The camera guy clapped his hands ecstatically and immaturely squealed, “Oh, yay!” The unusually excited man made sure to bring his camera with him and followed closely behind. The camera guy mentioned, “I never get taken on any adventures!” Diane said, “Gee, I wonder why?” The camera guy specified, “I mean, other than shooting scenes and hostage situations, but this going to be so much fun! You won’t regret this! It’s going to be even funner than when I got to meet Ed Sheeran! AHHHH!” Diane groaned, “Oh, for the love of god. Kill me now.”

Jerry led the two off with his gun pointed at their backs. As they were walking, he said, “You know I can arrange that.” I jumped up and shouted, “Pucking Jerry! That cockpucker has taken it too pucking far this time!” Grandma must have silently entered the basement behind me, because she caught me by surprise. She rested her pucking cold dead hands on my shoulders. She said, “That’s your cue. Go now, Hockey Cop. Go now and kill yourself for granny.” That was indeed my cue, but I’m not the one who’s doing the dying tonight.


	8. SHIT OUT OF PUCK

Hockey Cop didn’t recognize him, but the odd man with the camera was none other than grown up Cameron. That’s right, Camera the Camera Man. Despite being weirded out by Hockey Cop’s childhood drawings, he didn’t end up being so normal himself. Jerry Pop never shared any classes with Cameron, so he was basically nobody to him. Even with all the publicity in the world, neither Vagina Boy nor Hockey Cop had anyone in their lives they could honestly call their friend. In a way, Vagina Boy and Hockey Cop were closer than they knew or would ever admit.

If Cameron were bright enough to guess Hockey Cop’s true identity with all the red herrings in the air, that all could potentially change. If indeed the case, the two might actually have a lot to catch up on. However, their potential friendship may be cut before it can ever be arranged as Cameron was getting on Jerry Pop’s last nerves as much as he was Diane’s. Diane glared at Cameron sternly and said, “No one’s shooting anyone, asshole. That is, unless said shooting involves a camera. After all, a lady’s gotta get her story.”

Cameron gave her the thumbs up and said, “You’re goddamn right she does.” Diane rolled her eyes and said, “Good grief. I shouldn’t have given up cigarettes. I could have been dead before all this shit.” Cameron said, “You know he could arrange that. He has been sort of a bad host, don’t you think?” Diane blew her hair out of her face and said, “Don’t tell him that.” Jerry Pop groaned, “Seriously who hired this guy?” Diane asked, “You’re asking me. You’re the one who decided to bring him along for the ride.”

Jerry vowed, “I swear to whoever hired this guy, I’m gonna put a fucking slug in your lap. You won’t be laughing at Vagina Boy then.” Diane said, “You and me both, sister.” Cameron said, “Feminist empowerment! I like it! Now can I get that shit on El Camera?” Jerry said, “Has he seriously not shut the fuck up since I took the two of you hostage?” Diane callously prompted him, “You know, Cameron’s not going to shut the fuck up until you shut him up yourself.” Jerry pointed the gun to his head and said, “Don’t fucking tempt me, Miss Simmons.”

Cameron rummaged around with his camera and said, “You know. If you wanna shoot Diane, I have the camera for it! We can get all the angles! An angle over here! An angle over there. All around the world, baby! You can get the whole shebang!” Cameron said, “What? Like mouth wide open. Sure, I mean!” Never the brightest of the lot, Cameron opened his mouth wide open for the money shot. Before he could realize what he did, Jerry shoved the gun into Cameron’s mouth and shot a hole through it and out the back of his head. Jerry didn’t know who Cameron was or who he could have been. Quite simply, no pucks were given.


	9. GOT A PUCKING PROBLEM?

After blowing his dome to kingdom come, Jerry kicked Cameron’s dead body to the ground and yelled, “Now you shut the fuck up!” Jerry shot Cameron one more time in the back. The shooting of her cameraman didn’t even cause her to blink, as Diane had an inner sociopath dying to be let out herself. Diane said, “Holy shit. Holy fucking shit. Someone’s on their period.” Jerry asked, “What the fuck did you just say to me, bitch? I want you to seriously fucking repeat it.” Giving Pop Jerry the silent treatment, Diane took out a makeup kit and started adding a new layer of foundation.

Jerry said, “You had makeup on you this whole fucking time?” Diane asked, “Do I not have a vagina between my legs. You should know, fucking ironic little twerp.” Jerry patted Diane down, starting his search below the belt. Diane said, “That’s my vagina, jerk face. Oh, hey! There’s something we have in common.” Jerry said, “Shut up.” Jerry moved up her body and Diane said, “Annndd those are my boobs. I’m definitely suing,” Jerry wrapped up his search and removed a card from her breast pocket, “This is your card?”

Diane dirtily made a phone call gesture with her fingers and said under her breath, “Call me.” Jerry cringed, “You’re like... 40. No thanks.” Diane said, “Oh, spare me the speech. Lose the lip pubes and you’re like 13... that’s soaking wet... and you have a vagina!” Diane gave up, “Sheesh. No wonder you’ll never get fucking laid, vagina or otherwise.” Seeing how riled up he was, Diane pointed out, “You know, you’re awfully antsy for someone who made gunning down an entire squadron of police look so easy.” Jerry asked, “Yeah, they were fucking noobs. So what?”

Diane asked, “Is something the matter?” Jerry said, “I’m waiting on someone, Diane. What the fuck does it look like I’m doing?” With renewed curiosity, Diane pestered him some more, “Who are you waiting on? Surely not the cops.” Jerry said, “Shut up.” Diane smiled hungrily and kept pressing, “There’s more to the story, isn’t there?” Jerry cupped his ears and said, “Shut the fuck up.” Diane could tell she was mining gold now and coldly took a more personal dig, “I’m sure you didn’t earn the name Vagina Boy ironically as well.”

Jerry said, “Fuck you.” Diane was really getting him going now and said, “Alright, then. Who are you really waiting on, Vagina Boy? Hockey Cop?” Jerry yelled, “Puck you! Shut the— wait, what? No, fuck you!” Diane asked, “Oh, you total freak! You’re actually waiting on Hockey Cop! He’s a myth! Hockey Cop is a myth, you crazy—” Diane’s eyes lit up before she finished her sentence. Diane said, “Unless... You know who he is, don’t you?” Jerry said, “Of course I do. I’m not stupid. He’s the fucker who made me who I am today.”


	10. BECOMING THE PUCKING VILLAIN

The ER doctor in the school clinic said, “Jerry , I hate to inform you. It’s something you simply must have to know.” Jerry Pop asked, “What’s that? What did that little shit do?” The doctor said, “Previously, you were a minus 10. Are you familiar with the term minus 10?” Jerry said, “Yeah. It’s where you have to suck in 10 inches of your belly just to pull your cock out.” The doctor said, “That’s precisely the non-medical definition I had expected you give me. However, man to man, you’re not wrong.”

Jerry shook him by the collar and said, “Spare me the jargon and spill it, dipshit.” The doctor pushed Jerry off and motioned with his palms out. The doctor said, “Very well. When you got punched in the groin, your dick went so far into your stomach, it disconnected entirely. It’s unprecedented.” Jerry asked, “What the Hell is that supposed to mean.” The doctor asked, “Well, do you see that you’re not a numbered negative by any means?” Jerry said, “Yes.”

The doctor explained, “Since it’s been taken out of the equation entirely, it looks like you’ll never be able to use your dick again. If it wasn’t nonexistent then, it is now. Jesus weeps, you really are Vagina Boy.” Jerry Pop jumped out of the bed and hyperventilated, “What? No! Not my precious dick and balls! Damn you, Ratowski. I’m gonna get you for this! Mark my words! You’ll regret the day you turned me into Vagina Boy!”

(END OF PART ONE) TO BE CONTINUED . . .


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